


You who know what love is

by SrebrnaFH



Category: Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: AHA Playground Challenge, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14287407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Written for March/April trope on AHA - SoulmarksDarcy is thinking about his mark and his family. It is the afternoon before the Meryton Assembly.And then some scenes from the Assembly.And maybe a bit more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The March/April challenge in AHA Playground was "Soulmates".  
> Specific character of these challenges is that the stories should be "on topic", short (up to 2k words, more or less) and not beta checked.
> 
> So, you have been warned. No beta, no grammar check, just posted as it is.

####  
  
Fitzwilliam Darcy took his time in front of the mirror. Carefully re-adjusting his cravat, the small pin in his lapel, his cuffs. Anderson stood behind him with the hairbrush, ready to fix any errant curls that had been displaced at the last second, but he allowed his master to settle into the linen and silk armour of ball attire at his own pace.  
They both knew it was hopeless, anyway. Still, they both felt the commitment to making him as presentable as possible. Country savages or no, he had to be out there and looking. He didn’t have much time left.  
At least Georgiana’s future was secured, and in the most miraculous way possible. And Richard, Richard was safe and alive. If there were no more Darcys once he himself died, at least Pemberley would be inherited by the blood – and the fact that it would be Richard’s offspring made it that much sweeter.  
Richard, the adored, beloved older cousin who had never once derided Fitzwilliam for getting Marked at eight. Who had explained to him, in a reasonable but not patronising way, why higher classes weren’t happy with the whole idea of Marked.  
  
####  
  
_“Will, now, come here. Shush. What did she say?”  
“She screamed at Maman” he glanced up at his taller, thin-limbed cousin. “She said I was dirty and that I was a loss of money and time. And that she was disappointed with Maman and she would never consider me for Anne. What did she mean?”  
“That you’re actually better off as Marked, Will” Richard sounded somehow as if he was laughing. “Come on. Let’s go to the stables, there is hay in the loft, and I will tell you everything.”  
And so he did. He explained that there is a girl, somewhere in the world, that has the same Mark as William, probably even in the same place. That this girl will be the best friend that William he may ever get.  
“But I don’t want to be friends with a girl. You are my best friend!”  
“She will be even better. She is younger than you – significantly, because you’re eight and she was just born yesterday, so when she is sixteen and out, you’ll be twenty-four. You will meet – maybe at some friends, maybe at a ball. Maybe on the street. And you will know it’s her.”  
“But... girls are kind of useless. They can’t climb trees, or run, or play ball, or ride horses.”  
“Don’t let Anne be the model of all girls for you. There are young ladies who ride horses, I assure you. And even if they don’t climb trees, I’m sure you will find something in common.”  
“Maybe she will like geography.”  
“Or she will like dogs.”  
“I could share my books with her.”  
“And you could show her the rocks up in the range, girls like pretty things.”  
“Or she could help me gather the flowers for my herb book. I suppose girls know how to press flowers.”  
“Or she will know some way to tame these curls” Richard reached out and tousled his already messy hair. “Girls spend a lot of time in front of the mirror.”  
“But why was aunt Catherine so angry?”  
“She had wanted you to marry Anne, to get to your Papa’s money. But now that you have a Mark, you can’t marry just anyone, but only the girl with the same Mark. There are families that get rid of children with Marks” he looked away for a moment. “Royal families remove them from the inheritance, because they can’t be married to someone for political reasons. At least in England, it is illegal to marry a Marked person to a “Clean”, because there would be problems with them getting a divorce if the Marked one found their Soulmate. There are some countries where they allow this to happen anyway and they force the Soulmates apart. But the King decided that it is not humane to do this, and that the bond sickness is the proof that Marks should have priority over parental rights.”  
“So... if I wasn’t Marked, aunt Catherine would have wanted me to marry Anne because I will inherit all this money? And now that I have this, this... poem, she can’t do it?”  
“It would be against the King’s law, yes.”  
“But if I don’t find that girl, what will happen?”  
Richard looked sadly at him.  
“You will, don’t worry. You will.”  
_  
####  
  
Richard stayed as his very best friend, his confidante and his closest relative. Despite the six years of difference, they were only separated when they went to their respective schools, and even then, every Saturday or Sunday, every holiday, the road between Pemberley and Matlock saw one or the other travelling to meet his cousin.  
It was only the chaos of Maman’s sudden illness that made William miss yet another day in Richard’s company, and the days after – including the disastrous news that little Georgiana was born as Marked – made them all miss whole weeks. And there was nobody for young, sixteen-year-old second son of Earl to confide in. When William came to Matlock in two months, he was a thin, pale and sunken-eyed shadow of himself and Richard never told him of his own Mark suddenly blooming on his left arm, the old lettering and grand capital letter of first lines of “La Chanson de Roland” inked into his skin in red and brown. William had his own problems now, and listening to him cry himself to sleep stopped Richard from burdening him even further. He had no right. William had lost his mother and he had enough on his mind without Richard bothering him with his fears.  
That was his explanation, at least, when William visited him at his bedside last summer. When the strong, powerful, never-failing Richard was taken down by an "unexplainable” sickness. When the sickness had turned out to be an unfulfilled bond, killing him slowly. When they understood that Richard was one of the rare ones who had managed to survive his thirtieth birthday without properly bonding with his Soulmate.  
He was, in fact, one of the strongest in known history.  
His voice now weak and thready, his heart labouring under the strain of the bond sickness, still he implored William to look for the magical girl who would help him press flowers, collect rocks and tame his curls.  
  
####  
  
_“What about you, cousin?” William asked angrily. “When will you find the one who would adore you, hold your hand and make sure you take care of yourself?”_  
 _“You know as well as I do, William, that whoever gets inked after their sixteenth birthday has no more chance to live than a mayfly. From the moment the Mark appeared I knew I wouldn’t die of old age. I must admit, that made my courage on the battlefield a bit less of a burden.”_  
 _“Richard...”_  
 _“Whoever the girl is, she’s not yet out. She is Marked from birth, but she can still hope her Soulmate is a year or two older. Not sixteen! What girl would want... me?” he nodded at his wasted body._  
 _“If you bonded, your heart would start working normally and you’d be back to your old self in a matter of months” William said sternly. “The research says so. The man they kept in the Science Society hospital had regained his muscle tone in eight months after they had matched him with the right girl, and he is alive and hale now. You just need to stay alive for...”_  
 _“For however long it takes to find a girl with an old French poem on her hand. Which may be an issue, considering the current political climate. How should I go about it? Give an advertisement in a gazette? ‘Looking for a young lady with matching Mark of politically sensitive nature, desperate enough to take on a war-scarred Colonel, enquire at Matlock House’?”_  
 _There was a small sound at the door and they both turned to look at Georgiana, who was frantically rolling up her tight sleeve._  
 _“What are you...” William managed to say before she viciously pulled at the thin cotton, ripping the seam apart._  
 _“Roland?” she asked, teeth clenched tight. “Richard, what is your poem? Is it the Song of Roland?”_  
 _He tried to reach for the cuff of his sleeve, but it the effort was too much._  
 _“I... yes. The Song of Roland. Georgiana, what are you...”_  
 _Her arm was uncovered by the part of the sleeve she had managed to work open, showing the brown lettering of the bottom line of a poem._  
 _William could only glance at it for a second – the society rule was not to watch the Marks too closely, even on relatives – and then he quickly assisted Richard in rolling the loose linen up his arm._  
 _“Dear Lord, William” he heard his sister’s voice, for once assured and confident. “Please move aside and... turn away.”_  
 _He knew they sealed the Bond with a kiss. He heard that, and Richard’s small whimper of relief, which made his shoulders sag as he relaxed. He was not losing his best friend. He was not leaving his sister to waste away alone on the family property, counting the days until her demise. The family would survive, even if he never found his Soulmate._  
  
####  
  
He straightened a bit, allowing Anderson to reaffix the loose curl with a tiny amount of wax. Assembly Rooms in Meryton. Not the best and not the worst place he had tried. Bingley was insistent, even though as a Clean, he had much more time than twenty-eight-year-old Darcy. He wanted to find the right girl and he wanted to have fun looking for her.  
Darcy just hoped that there was a girl somewhere out there who didn’t hate Mozart yet. After twenty years spent staring at the two lines of poetry on his forearm he positively detested opera, but maybe she... Maybe she wouldn’t.  
He pulled the gloves on and nodded at Anderson.  
“Keep faith, sir” the man said. “You will find her. And once you do, please do remember what is the next line of that aria you dislike so much. Do tell her what you are feeling.”  
“I will, Anderson. I will.”  
  
####


	2. Chapter 2

####  
  
The Song had been with Elizabeth since her birth.  
At the beginning the Mark had been an unreadable, dark blob on the inside of her forearm. Her mother, the family story said, had asked the midwife to wash it away, but the old woman tut-tutted and simply wrapped the babe tightly and brought her to her father.  
Mr Bennet, having heard the request raised by his wife, unwrapped the tight fabric and freed the small, pudgy left arm. The Mark was as obvious as the child's discomfort with being manhandled, so he hurriedly wrapped her again and held her closer to himself.  
His and his wife's answer to that tiny detail were so vastly different he sometimes wonders if they actually see the same thing.  
He knew perfectly well what were the chances of a young lady meeting her soulmate in the modern society. Next to nil. The problem was the compound of the population size - at the time already even the British Isles held too many people to reasonably meet in a lifetime - the society prejudice against Marked and the rules of proper behaviour then being enforced by the leading minds of the land.  
Therefore what he saw in little Lizzy was a star. A star that would shine shortly but brightly. He stoked that fire, feeding it with books, lessons of mathematics, foreign languages, dances and music. He was determined to make sure that although she might only have thirty years to live, she was going to experience that time to the fullest.  
His wife saw all this as a waste of resources.  
Lizzy, from her point of view, was either as good as married, or destined to become a spinster. If a man should appear and match his Mark with hers, he would take her in old shoes and a torn shirt. If no such man should appear, the girl would be dead by the time she reaches thirty, and then why invest in her at all. She could not be married off to the family's advantage. Even before the King's decree regarding marriage of the Marked, general public was less than willing to see people getting married only to be torn apart by one of them finding their real other half.  
Either way there was no reason to spend time and money on her second daughter.  
Elizabeth herself was rather confused the first time her father had tried to explain the concept of her soulmark.  
  
####  
  
_"So it will be a_ _ **boy**_ _?" she asked in distaste. "But I don't like_ _ **boys**_ _. Boys are smelly and stupid."_  
_"That boy will not be stupid, and by the time you meet him he should grow up and stop being smelly."_  
_"How do you know he will not be stupid?" her frown deepened. "How can you know that already?"_  
_"By the fact that you have this mark. It means that there is someone, out there, maybe looking for you already, and he will be your absolutely best friend."_  
_"But Charlotte is my best friend!" she protested. "Does this mean I could be her soulmate?"_  
_Her father sighed._  
_"No, darling. Charlotte doesn't have a Mark. She will... she will find, one day, a boy she likes, and she will marry him. And you will find the boy who has the same Mark as you do, and you will see that you like him. And then marry him. This is the way it works."_  
_"Stupid" she decided finally. "I don't want any other friends. Charlotte is my best friend and Jane is my best sister. I don't need anyone else."_  
_"One day you will find out that you need. Not today, not tomorrow. One day."_  
_"Can we play chess now?"_  
_"Of course, darling. You can be whites."_  
  
####  
  
Mother had since changed her stance slightly. Although still ruled by the reflex that investing in Elizabeth too much was a waste, she had read enough romances from the circulating library and enough reports on the gossip pages on London Society to know that in many cases the Marked Pairs were people from vastly different backgrounds. The main outcome of that discovery was her idee fixe that should Elizabeth find the right partner, all their family would be somehow lifted from their current status. She didn't even try to accept the suggestion of a farmer or other simple labourer being potential mate for her second child. It was Lizzy's destiny and duty to bring them into a new level of society.  
Without too much investment from her mother, if possible.  
Elizabeth herself had gone through several phases of love and disdain with her own arm. The moment that limb had grown big enough for the text to be read, she had been searching high and low for Italian poetry, without much luck. Finally it was the visit of her aunt and uncle Gardiner that gave her the needed answer and she immediately asked for the music sheet for her tenth birthday.  
By the time she mastered the piece finally, Lydia had declared her undying hatred to Mozart (being only six, she was already rather dramatic) and Mary had happily, if not skilfully, joined in. Kitty and Jane had been moved to taking long, refreshing walks, which worked to their advantage in the coming years, shaping their constitution and bringing certain healthiness to their bodies that their mother did not approve of but men seemed to regard as pleasing.  
Since then Elizabeth herself had gone through the deepest hatred of the piece (when Mary herself was practising it), which made her join Jane and Kitty on their excursions, yet another revival of some warmer regard to it (after the circulating library had included a shelf of Marked romance and they read it avidly) and again… And the again was now.  
And again included public performances.  
  
###  
  
It was the time of the assembly and Mrs Bennet was ready to tear her hair out.  
All five of her daughters had put on the concealing gloves.  
Elizabeth had, of course, pulled one on as it was required by the society rules for Marked.  
Jane had hers in a show of solidarity with Elizabeth.  
Mary was happy to use hers as a means of distancing herself from her surroundings. Despite the neighbourhood knowing perfectly well she was Clean, the taboo against bothering someone in the gloves was strong enough for them to leave her alone.  
Kitty put hers on to ensure only the right gentleman would approach her - one who would be so much in love in her that even the gloves wouldn't scare him. She already had the fabulous vision built of a man falling on his knees and begging her to live for him.  
Lydia pulled hers on because it seemed like a great lark.  
Mrs Bennet shook with fury as she sat with them in the carriage.  
The moment they entered, the familiar wave of warmth and gossip surrounded them and they all listened in fascination, walking with their mother to the nice spot just by Lady Lucas. Charlotte was sporting a white glove, too, and she winked at Lizzy saucily.  
  
####  
  
The new neighbours seemed rather interesting, which was always better than simply _nice_. Still, nice would have been good, too. The only person who seemed to be having any kind of positivity in his soul was the new tenant himself, Mr Bingley, who had arrived an hour before the rest of his party and had already became a fast friend with most of the gathered guests. His sisters, rather grand ladies, seemed to be in the constant state of sneer, as if they had just returned home from a county-wide competition in sucking lemons. His brother-in-law seemed to be rather less interesting, himself mostly interested in the offerings of the alcoholic kind. The third man...  
"This one looks rather imposing" Lizzy whispered to Charlotte.  
"Well, he is an owner of half a county" her friend whispered back.  
"Whichever county it is, I'm already sorry for it" Elizabeth snorted. "Oh, did you see it, Charlotte? He just counted the gloved girls. I wonder..."  
The tall man approached, with his friend, the next group of the local gentry and was quickly introduced to the whole little family. What he did next was so unexpected that Elizabeth had to actually rub her eyes. She asked the young lady - Victoria something, a cotton glove firmly covering her left arm up to her sleeve - for a dance and, having secured one, moved with his friend to another clump of people. The situation repeated three times more as they watched him carefully, with determination and definitive distaste getting introduced to one simpering maiden after another.  
"What can he be about?" Charlotte asked, frowning.  
"Well, I see two options" Lizzy leaned against the wall. "Either he is Marked and hadn't made any progress on his Mark, so he is touring local assembly rooms, losing hope and patience **or** he is Clean and dances only with Marked girls in order to make Cleans stay away."  
"Devious thinking, Elizabeth."  
"I wonder..."  
The voice they heard over the din definitely belonged to the tall man.  
"...all of them in gloves. I wonder what poor man is marked for any of them. And no, Bingley. I do not, most emphatically suggest that pretty lady you'd found so pleasing should become the next Mrs Bingley. Be reasonable, Charles. She has the glove on. You are Clean. It won't work."  
"It could" his friend's slightly higher voice sounds stubborn. "If at least for a little while. She... I danced with her. She seems perfectly..."  
"Look somewhere else, Charles. The girl is nice, smiling and acceptably graceful - much more so than any of her sisters, I have to admit - but this is utter madness. Pursuing her will only bring you grief. And if she seems to be responding to your advances, she is either as mad as you, or a shameless, mindless flirt!"  
"Lizzy!" her friend squeezed her elbow. "What are you doing?!"  
"He..." Elizabeth gasped "he is saying things, like this, about _Jane_!"  
"Elizabeth!" Charlotte's hands turned Lizzy's face towards her friend. "Think. What would you say, objectively, about a Marked girl who accepts advances from a Clean man?"  
Elizabeth frowned.  
"That she is... a shameless... flirt" she grated out reluctantly.  
"Why?"  
"Because... she wouldn't... have any future with him."  
"And?"  
"It would only end in her death, or..."  
"Or them being split up when her soulmate is found. Correct?"  
Lizzy nodded. She knew that Charlotte had a much more sober view of the society and, from time to time, allowed herself to be led by her friend.  
"Was there anything he said that was _not_ true, had he had the facts correctly?"  
"No, Charlotte."  
"Did he insult Jane then?"  
"No, not really."  
"Are you going to be unreasonable on this topic again?"  
"No, Charlotte. But..."  
"Well, now that I think about what he said, I see just one part, myself..." Charlotte's voice faded away as Elizabeth noticed a large, dark presence behind her.  
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet" Mr Bingley greeted her with a bow. "Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Debyshire, my best friend."  
"Poor Derbyshire" Charlotte breathed, making Lizzy choke with laughter, her eyes brightening merrily.  
"Mr Darcy" she curtsied. "Mr Bingley. My friend, Charlotte Lucas, daughter of Sir William Lucas."  
"Ah, Miss Lucas" Mr Bingley smiled widely. "Your father is the most excellent host! May I please have the next free dance?"  
Charlotte blinked and checked her dance card. Lizzy knew perfectly well that it was as empty as her own.  
"Yes" the older girl managed to utter. "I have the next one free."  
"So much obliged, Miss Lucas" he bowed again and left for another group.  
"Would you be interested in dancing, Miss Elizabeth?" the lower, darker voice asked.  
"That would be a very... thank you" she said with alacrity, seeing her mother pushing her way through the crowds towards them. "Dear me."  
"Miss Elizabeth?"  
"Thank you for your consideration, Mr Darcy. In exchange for your amiability I must implore you to leave the main room for the next... half an hour at least."  
"But, Miss..."  
"Now comes the presentation of the local talent, Mr Darcy. I assume you may not be used to performances on this peculiar skill level."  
He frowned at her, not understanding.  
"My sister is seventeen and she had been practising ever since she was tall enough to reach the keyboard. She is a perfectly good player... I don't see why I should leave now."  
"They will also sing" Elizabeth added, looking at him as she panicked slightly. "And I assure you, this is not what even _I_..."  
"E-lizabeth!" her mother's battlefield voice cut through the noise. "Your turn!"  
"I'm so sorry" she mouthed silently and turned to her mother, blushing.  
"Mama, maybe someone else should..."  
"Nonsense! Mary will turn your pages, she is already sitting. And then you can turn for her. Come, come. You have to play your piece. Someone may hear it and then you will find him..."  
She followed her mother, turning once again to the tall man and nodding towards the balcony door, mouthing "Run for your life" and smiling.  
He was looking at her in a rather peculiar way. And not moving.  
_Oh, well._  
  
####


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what Jane is seeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure it's going anywhere, but I see at least one more chapter here ;)

The retiring room was full of various types of outerwear and young ladies trying to manage a hem, a button or a ribbon that had become undone in the process of vigorous dancing. Jane took a place in front of one of the small mirrors and dug in her reticule for a small brush she had specifically packed in order to bring her fringe back under control. Finally, losing her patience, she peeled off her glove and dropped it on the table in front of her.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate, Miss Bennet” the voice had a significant hissing element to it.

“Miss Bingley” Jane half-turned towards the newcomer. “I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“There are... areas in London in which women like you gather” the imposing figure in striped silk moved behind her, making her uncomfortable. “They come to show the world what they have to... offer.”

Jane frowned and started brushing her hair into a manageable form, taking time to tame them back into the prettily arranged curls.

“I’m still unsure...”

Charlotte sat next to her, pulling her own glove off and flexing her hand.

“However much I love Lizzy” she said with a sigh “this is _warm_.”

“You know she isn’t expecting us to do this” Jane shrugged. “She is fine now.”

“I know. But I still like to do it for her. I’m only saying that it is rather warm.”

“At least it’s not a whole glove sewn together with the dress, as the French do” Jane shuddered.

Miss Bingley made a small noise of ignored importance.

“We are not being indecent, Miss Bingley” Charlotte smiled and turned her forearm up, presenting her pale, Clean left arm. “We wear the gloves in support of Elizabeth.”

“But she insists we take them off for the dinner dance, to allow us to socialise during the dinner itself and the dances after.”

“So you... you are _faking_ being Marked?” Miss Bingley seemed rather thrown. “Why would you do such a thing? It is... unseemly!”

“It is also a private matter” Charlotte cut the conversation short, her eyes going down and up Miss Bingley’s figure, finally settling on her hairdo. “And there is nothing unseemly about it. It’s not as if we were wearing half of an ostrich’s backside on our heads, is it?”

The silence in the retiring room was deadly, and broken finally by Lydia crashing through the door, tearing off her glove.

“Finally! I am sooo tired of it. For a lark, it is a bit bothersome, isn’t it, Jane? Now, on to the dinner. Who are you sitting with?”

“Whoever asked us for the dinner dance, of course. You know very well, Lydia” Charlotte picked up Lydia’s glove and added it to hers and Jane’s. “Which in my case is my younger brother. However much I love him, I’d like to be able to tell him...” she shrugged.

“Well, never mind. I got asked to stand up with a very nice young man who came with the Whitleys so I need to be out there soonest. Now, Jane, do I look presentable?”

The oldest sister frowned critically.

“You look proper. And neat. All the hem still intact, which is saying something. Now, just make sure you do sit near Kitty or Mary with the young man you're planning to dance with" Jane massaged her temples and sighed.

"Do you need me to fetch you anything, Jane?"

"Thank you, Charlotte. No, I will be fine in a moment. I'm just..." she threw a glance at Miss Bingley who was still watching them, with ever growing scowl. "I'm just worried about Elizabeth" she whispered. "You are, too, I know as much."

She saw her friend nod jerkily and also take a look behind them.

"Some people have all the luck they may wish for" she said softly. "And no Mark on anyone in her family, either."

Lydia leaned towards them, too.

"I've heard her say" she added, just as quietly "that it may be a sacrifice to be a walking corpse's wife for two years, but she is willing to do as much to be a rich widow afterwards. What did she mean, Janey? It sounded..."

Charlotte's eyes widened and Jane was sure her own face reflected that expression.

"Lyddie, you heard _Miss Bingley_ say such a thing? When?"

"When she was standing by the window during the last dance, with that short lady, I think it is her sister? Mrs Hurst?"

Charlotte pressed her knuckles to her lips.

"That sounds as if she was hunting a Marked man" she said finally. "Someone who is about thirty, someone rich, someone still... not... bonded..." she looked between Jane and Lydia. "And, if I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, someone who is about to dance with Elizabeth the moment the performance part ends. Well, that will depend..." a din of voices arose from the main room. "We'd better hurry. Lizzy managed to let other young ladies play first, but I'm afraid she had ran out of candidates and she will be the next. Someone has to stop your mother from throttling her, Jane!"

That had Jane jumping up and wondering what her bright star of a sister could have possibly concocted.

 

####

 

As they made their way through the crowd, Jane barely stopped herself from hitching up her dress and running in the most undignified manner. Still, they managed to join Kitty and Mary by the pianoforte before Elizabeth gave in to their mother's incessant badgering.

"But, Mama" she said with a warning in her voice. "I'm not sure you will like the outcome..."

Jane shivered. Elizabeth _was_ planning something.

_Oh, my._

"Sit down, Miss Lizzy, and play your song! And sing! You know as well as I do what this song means!"

"Oh, much better, much better than you, Mama" Jane heard Lizzy mutter and then caught her sister's eye. Elizabeth smiled in the most sly way Jane had ever seen and... sang.

If usually Lizzy's singing was a pleasant experience to all involved and her playing was unaffected and light, that didn't mean she wasn't capable of executing each in a manner most oppressive to her audience. Lizzy also detested being pressed into the evening entertainment and, in particular, hated playing "her song" in front of mixed company. She compared it to being a fishmonger hawking her wares on a marketplace.

Well, nobody would have bought even a smallest herring from _that_ seller.

Lizzy's voice arose in an unpleasant dissonance to the pianoforte, catching a slightly whistly tone on the higher notes, while still perfectly following the melody of the piece. Her stance at the keyboard was stiff, her fingers literally stabbing at the keys in a particularly staccato manner and - Jane looked at her face - she had crossed her eyes and rolled them upwards and kept them so as she happily butchered Mozart's masterwork.

In seconds, the neighbours were roaring with laughter and the newcomers were joining in. All of them, except for the tall, dark-haired gentleman from Derbyshire, who stood looking at the group by the pianoforte with an expression of someone recently struck by a lighting.

Before Mrs Bennet managed to fight herself a free path to the pianoforte and started berating Elizabeth, Jane managed to notice a few things.

For one, Mr Darcy was now taking off one of his gloves. Ah. A Marked then.

For another, Miss Bingley had joined him and was hissing something into his ear which he was very definitely not listening to.

For yet another, there was now a gentleman looking at _her_. A very confused, fair-haired gentleman who had arrived to fetch Charlotte for her dinner dance and was standing in front of them both, looking at Jane's bare hand in something between elation and despair.

Ah. There was the explanation time, again. But not before...

She turned back to her sister who was now smiling, unrepentant, at her mother. And the tall, imposing man who was pushing the gawping masses aside, as if crossing the Red Sea, until he stood in front of Elizabeth and reached out to her with his bare hand.

"I believe that is our dance, Miss Elizabeth" he said, his voice pleasantly rumbly.

"Mr Darcy" Lizzy cocked her head to the side, watching him. "What is your opinion on Mozart?"

The man smiled, for the first time in the evening.

"I can't stand him."

"Neither can I" Lizzy pursed her lips. "And what about Italian poetry?"

"I'd be glad to never learn another word in that language."

"Then we are suited perfectly, I think" she rose and placed her right, bare hand in his.

_Oh. So that's what it's supposed to look like._

Mr Bingley sucked in a breath.

"Darcy, you lucky man" he said softly. "That was..."

"Charlotte? May I?"

Her friend smiled and nodded.

"Mr Bingley? I think my friend is in need of some quiet."

"Ah. Miss Lucas? Are you sure?"

"Certainly, Mr Bingley. Please, proceed."

The green eyes under fair eyebrows smiled.

"Now, Mr Bingley" she started the moment he offered her his arm. "I need to know _everything_ about Mr Darcy. Every single detail."

 

####

 

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy - Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, twenty-eight, the heir of large fortune and an older brother of also Marked sister - were dancing in the next pair. Where Jane and Bingley moved in an amiable cooperation, progressing easily through the steps and figures, the other two were dancing as if isolated from the rest of the world by a glass bubble. There was something of a fairytale quality about them as they held each other by the barest tips of their naked fingers, looking at nothing at all but themselves.

"I'm glad" Mr Bingley said with a smile. "There is nothing better in the world than seeing one's friends happy."

Jane couldn't but agree. If only there was someone appropriate for Charlotte to be found. Jane would have to pay attention to people approaching their friend. They couldn't have her choosing someone out of sheer desperation after all. They had time. They were Clean, they could afford to wait.

Now that Lizzy’s future was assured, they were in no hurry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And a letter.

Dear Cousin (and Brother),

 

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your Sister has been asking and...

Scratch this, Will. Come back home for Christmas. That's an order.

I'm up, I'm healthy, I'm fine. More than fine. I'm glorious. And I need my future brother-in-law by me, as there will be a day of vengeance, a day of justice to be done.

No, I'm not drunk. Not on spirits, anyway. I'm drunk on happiness. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl.

William, my dearest cousin.

He is caught. He is imprisoned. And he will be sentenced to transportation.

 _Ab ovo_ , cousin.

George Wickham will darken our lives no more.

He had apparently invested all his money in a trip to some benighted town in Russia and found local criminal element to be amenable to his needs. They had produced a reasonable faximile of my Mark (or, rather, Georgiana's Mark) and he came back to Pemberley, simulating the last throes of bond sickness, begging her for a touch.

I am unsure what was the aim of that - maybe he had a narcotic prepared to simulate the effects of a bond, but he wasn't expecting me to show up.

Or to beat him up and send for the magistrate.

George Wickham will be tried, and found guilty, of a Mark forgery, attempt at beguiling a Marked woman and attempted murder (mine).

Please let us know you would be coming home in time for the trial.

 

Your faithful servant

 

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam (retired)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. My 4-parter of a playground challenge.  
> Let me know how you liked it :)


End file.
